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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784287">cautionary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn'>CampionSayn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>February Prompts 2020 [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>3 Sentence Fiction, Chronic Illness, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Pre-Epilogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:41:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Suppose that while the Kingdom was still in disarray after the death of the Queen, Sansa heard a little sneering rumor and went to see her only former husband worth a damn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrion Lannister &amp; Sansa Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>February Prompts 2020 [15]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cautionary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“No, no, please don’t be afraid of me; I wouldn’t ever hurt you, Tyrion,” Sansa spoke so softly that she could still hear his faded, painful breaths, clogged and damp from being in a cell for the last months and pneumonia falling in love with his lungs, perhaps more than any <em>woman</em> ever had.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eyes clouded and head spinning, Tyrion still continued to look upon the red haired lady of Winterfell like she must have been some Other and he couldn’t possibly trust her to be more than his own fragile mind playing tricks on him; but he still held out to the curse of hope, and had to ask, “What is that in your hand, my Lady?”</span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sansa smiled, light and almost shy in her answer, holding the black glass bottle up to the three candles’ light of the servant’s chamber she’d had the guards bring him to a mere quarter of an hour after she’d arrived and heard he’d taken a bad turn with nobody seeming to give a damn, save to mock and sneer that perhaps he'd get what he deserved by the decree of the gods, rather than men; a poor choice in opinion while she was in earshot, “Greater Creator; one of the few wines I’d dare to wager you haven’t had fill your belly; it’s so bitter and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you.”</span>
</p>
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